Café Las Brujas

It took a while, but I finally found my café. It's about two-and-a-half blocks away, past the Iglesia de la Compania, with the dancers and and fire-eaters in the plaza. Turn left on 3 Ote, a pedestrian block. There are lots of stalls here for used books and local handicrafts, very unlike the more touristy Parian. At the end of the block, on the right, is Café Las Bruges. As soon as I saw it, on Saturday evening, I knew I'd found home. I went back this morning, with the assistant RELO who was visiting from Mexico City. It may have been a little downscale for him, but perfect for me. It's small, with about five tables on the street, three inside, and an overstuffed loveseat and coffee table. There's some lovely and provocative art on the walls--why does every artist here remind me of Frida Kahlo?

I went back this evening for a light dinner, since the hotel restaurant is closed on Sunday nights. The music was fine, a Tom Jones compilation of some sort. Camp? It's the kind of place that could swing either way. It's usually a young crowd, with young families, students, musicians and artists. The university Department of Psychology is on the same block. It's never too crowded or too empty. though it's the kind of place I could feel at home at, even deserted.

The patrón gave me a warm welcome. His year-old son was pulling himself around the cafe in his wheeled thingy that infants can sit in. No easy feat with a flagstone floor.

I had my light dinner: a Victoria and tacos for about four bucks. I journaled. I watched the other guests, and the people on the street outside. It feels like the kind of place where I could actually meet someone, or rather, where someone I might actually like to meet might come. I waited, but she didn't come. I knew she wouldn't. But I'll still go back.